


Summer Rain

by the_most_beautiful_broom



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Kissing in the Rain, because i don't think we're going to get it this season so of course i just had to write it myself, bellamy is stressed and clarke is like hon you're fine??, idk what else to tag this, that's it that's basically all it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 18:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14063328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_most_beautiful_broom/pseuds/the_most_beautiful_broom
Summary: For the dialog prompt "Move Over"It was right about then that she realized that she was sitting in the rain, on Bellamy Blake’s back porch, her thigh pressed up against his and his wrists holding her hands.She let her hands drop, pulling them back into her lap. She was happy with his smile, but now really wasn’t the time to get distracted by an unreciprocated crush.“Um,” she said softly, gathering her thoughts, “I meant it earlier, Bellamy. I’m sure your professors could tell just how long you spent on it. And it’s a good thesis, okay? I’ve never read anything more riveting on the Macedonian society and metalinguistics.”“Please, like you’ve read anything else on—”“Don’t go there,” she cut him off, but they were both grinning.





	Summer Rain

Clarke set her dripping umbrella down in the Blakes’ hallway, stepping out of her rainboots and hanging her coat on the railing at the base of the stairs. The summer rain had come out of nowhere, and even though California sorely needed it, Clarke wished the downpour could’ve waited for a more opportune time…namely when Bellamy wasn’t convinced he’d completely botched his thesis defense.

“Clarke? Please tell me that’s you?” Octavia’s voice echoed around the small townhome.

“Yeah it’s me,” Clarke called back, following it into the kitchen, “You doing okay, O?”

Her friend was sitting at the kitchen table, looking over notes for her own finals. “Now that you’re here to talk my melodramatic brother out of his post-presentation haze, I’m much better. I keep trying to get him out of the rain but he keeps insisting he’s fine; I gave up and just gave him a mug of tea, hoping that’ll keep the hypothermia away.”

The bravado in Octavia’s voice was contradicted by the way her eyes kept moving worriedly to the screen door that led to the back porch. Even with the storm, Clarke could see Bellamy’s form sitting on the steps, his back hunched and his head heavy. He was technically under the overhang of the upstairs rooms, but there was no way the wind wasn’t blowing rain into him. Clarke squeezed Octavia’s shoulder reassuringly, before stepping through the kitchen to the porch.

When the door swung open, Bellamy’s head lifted slightly, registering the sound without turning around. “I already told you, O,” he said, his voice borderline petulant, “I’m doing fine.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agreed quietly, “you’re doing so ‘fine’ that she pulled rank and called me.”

Bellamy’s head whipped around in surprise, water droplets flicking across the porch as they flung off his hair. “Clarke!”

She made a show out of patting her face dry from where the water had landed, and Bellamy looked slightly sheepish. If she played her cards right, he’d feel bad about getting her wet and come back inside. The apartment was small, but it was much less conducive to brooding that the damp porch.

Sure enough, a pretty flush spread across Bellamy’s cheeks. “Sorry,” he said quickly, “I didn’t mean to do that. You should be inside; it’s too wet out here.”

“Okay then, let’s go,” she said simply.  

Bellamy turned back to the porch, another gust of wind blowing a sheet of rain into him. “I’ll be in in a minute.”

Clarke’s heart sank.

Every now and then, he got like this: convinced that his best wasn’t enough, worried that he was a disappointment, certain he could’ve done more. And no matter how much she or Octavia told him otherwise, they could never be louder than the voices whispering between his ears.

“Alright,” she said matter-of-factly, “Move over, then.”

“Clarke, wait—”

But he protested too late, and she barely gave him time to move the half-empty mug of tea from the step beside him before she wedged herself in its place next to him. The wood was cool, and wet from the rain, but the summer air was warm enough to keep her from getting a chill.

That, and the fact that he leg was pressed up against Bellamy’s.

In the middle of a summer storm, no less.

“Too late,” she said lightly.

Bellamy looked like he wanted to protest, his mouth parted slightly as a hundred different arguments rushed through his mind. Clarke raised an eyebrow and he closed his mouth, letting out a short breath and looking out at the storm.

“Suit yourself, Princess,” he muttered.

Clarke rolled her eyes, biting back the response that princesses would never sit on a muddy stoop in the rain. It probably wouldn’t help her cause.

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, watching the rain. It was comforting, in a way. The constant dripping from the gutters, the surges of water as the wind blew sheets of rain across the lawn. The puddles that formed in the uneven grass, and the ripples that new drops made in them.

After a while, Bellamy’s posture relaxed slightly, and Clarke felt him slipping back into whatever thoughts had been keeping him company before she had. She shifted slightly, turning her head to study his profile.

She hadn’t planned on friendship with Bellamy Blake.

In fact, quite the opposite: she’d been mortified to find out that her freshman year roommate’s older brother was the History TA with whom she’d gotten in a yelling match in the middle of the library over the merits of science over arts. Not her proudest moment, to be sure, but it always rubbed her the wrong way when humanities majors thought they were more cultured than she, because they could say it in an ancient language. Needless to say, their first introduction had been stilted, at best, as had most of the interactions that followed. Eventually, she realized that he was a lot smarter than she’d originally given him credit for, right about the time when he realized she had a capacity for empathy, and they fell into an uneasy truce. Then the truce got easier.  

Bellamy squinted as a gust of wind blew more rain their way, and Clarke found herself admiring the flutter of his long eyelashes. And maybe she was a little jealous of the raindrops that got to chase down the bridge of his nose, or along his jawline, or budding at his cupid’s bow and—

So, maybe, hypothetically, somewhere along the line she’d stopped seeing him as her friend’s conceited older brother.

Too bad she was pretty sure that she was firmly in the ‘younger sister’s irritating friend’ category.

Clarke shook her head sharply, pushing the thought—she’d been having too many like it recently—away from her mind. She was here to talk him out of feeling sorry for himself, not join him on that particular island.

“So,” she said gently, “Your thesis.”

“If it can be called that,” Bellamy grumbled, his hands tightening into fists on his knees.

“I think it’s pretty aptly named,” she said determinedly, “and I get the feeling your panel of professors would agree too.”

Bellamy snorted. “You weren’t there.”

“I didn’t have to be; I know how much time and effort you put into that thesis. Hell, I proof-read it for you, didn’t I?”

“Well, you’d think for all that _time and effort_ , I’d have a little more to show for it.”

“So, what exactly happened, that you think it was so bad?”

Bellamy was quiet. “It’s nothing.”

“Bell, we’re sitting in the rain; it’s something.”

His jaw clenched before he answered. “Dax went before me.”

“So your thesis must’ve seemed like it deserved a Nobel prize, by comparison,” Clarke said sharply, unable to disguise the bite in her voice.

“More like it was a hard act to follow.”

Clarke figured now was the time to reassure him, tell him how great his work was and how amazing he’d done…but she’d tried that, and O had tried that, but to no avail. She looked at him sideways for a moment.

“Hey, do me a favor; look that way?”

Frowning slightly, Bellamy complied, turning his head away from her as her hand reached up to his hair. She began poking at his skull through it, and she hummed to herself. “Interesting,” she mused, “and now that way?”

Bellamy’s confused expression was fading to amusement, but he complied and Clarke hid a smile and her other hand joined her first in his hair.

“You know what, Bell?”

“What’s that?”

“There’s no tomatoes in your hair.”

Bellamy gave a bark of a laugh, moving his head away and reaching up to pull her wrists from his head. “Real subtle, Griffin.”

Clarke grinned. “I’m just saying: they didn’t throw rotten fruit at you; how bad could it have been?”

Bellamy shook his head quickly, send droplets of water flying again and Clarke squealed.

It was right about then that she realized that she was sitting in the rain, on Bellamy Blake’s back porch, her thigh pressed up against his and his wrists holding her hands.

She let her hands drop, pulling them back into her lap. She was happy with his smile, but now really wasn’t the time to get distracted by an unreciprocated crush.

“Um,” she said softly, gathering her thoughts, “I meant it earlier, Bellamy. I’m sure your professors could tell just how long you spent on it. And it’s a good thesis, okay? I’ve never read anything more riveting on the Macedonian society and metalinguistics.”

“Please, like you’ve read anything else on—”

“Don’t go there,” she cut him off, but they were both grinning.

They were back to familiar territory, and Clarke turned back to the rain, waiting for a moment before breaking the silence again. “You know why I know it’s a good thesis?”

“Because you proof-read it?”

“Hmm, that’s what makes it an excellent thesis,” Clarke said airily, flipping her hair and sending a shower of droplets in Bellamy’s direction before she found herself serious again. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, and he was looking at her. She drew in a deep breath, lifting a shoulder lightly. “No, Bell, what made it so good was you. You worked so hard on it, and you care so much about it; it shines through in every word you wrote. There’s no way they didn’t love it. And I know you’re going to be all in your head until they give you feedback on it, but I promise—I promise, okay—that they’re going to have nothing but good things to say about it.”

Bellamy’s eyes had drifted out to the rain again. “What if they hate it?” he asked after a long moment.

Clarke shook her head. “That’s actually not possible.”

“But it—”

“Bellamy, it isn’t,” Clarke interrupted, and she shrugged again. “There’s no way that they heard your presentation, checked your work, read your thesis without seeing you. And there’s no way they could see you without seeing how special you are.”

She meant it.

Of course she meant it; it was a fact, just as true and obvious as the falling rain. She just hadn’t meant to stay it.

Bellamy was suddenly still beside her.

She felt his eyes on her, and wondered how she could possibly try to talk her way back out to casual friends, and cheering him up, and not on the fact that admitting how incredible he is was as natural as breathing. She nervously pushed her hair behind her ear and clenched her eyes shut, as she turned to face him.

“Okay, so I know that sounded—”

Her words died in her throat and her eyes flew open when she felt Bellamy’s hands framing her face. He cupped her jaw with his hands, his long fingers reaching up past her hairline and before she could process that Bellamy wasn’t looking at her like she was insane, he had pulled her ever so slightly towards him.

And he kissed her.

He tasted like Earl Grey tea and rainwater and Clarke couldn’t help but sigh as she leaned into him. Her hands lifted of their own accord, fisting the front of his tee shirt to draw him closer to her. Bellamy’s hands shifted from cradling her face to tangle in her hair and Clarke decided there was nothing more perfect that the feeling of Bellamy’s lips moving over hers, with nothing but summer rain between them.

Dazed was too coherent a word to describe how Clarke felt when they finally broke apart. Bellamy didn’t move his hands, his fingers moving slightly against her scalp in a simple motion that was somehow hypnotic.

“Thank you,” he whispered, so quietly she almost missed it.

Her lashes felt heavy, but Clarke opened her eyes, amazed to see his face so close to hers. “Um,” she gathered her thoughts, not bothering to hide the breathlessness on her voice, “for the pep talk oor the kiss?”

Bellamy smiled, and Clarke marveled at how beautiful it was to see his face crinkle so close to hers. “Yes?” he offered, and Clarke found herself grinning too.

“Well,” she realized she was still clenching his shirt and released it, smoothing out the wrinkles in the damp fabric, pretending not to notice that Bellamy’s eyes had fallen to her hands on his chest, “then I guess if I say ‘anytime’, you know it applies to both?”

Bellamy’s chin lifted slightly, and his brown eyes were so warm and so close and Clarke’s breath caught.

She could probably say another encouraging thing or three about his thesis.

Or she could ask him where the kiss had come from.

Or they could shake the rain out of their hair and go back inside, trying not to make Octavia upset with how much water they’d track back into the house.

But there was time for that, plenty of it.

Now, Clarke decided, was the time for sitting on cramped steps, soaked with summer rain, held by a brown-eyed boy, with constellations on his skin and starfire in his eyes, who was looking at her like maybe she was special too.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like it! Talk to me in the comments, or over on [tumblr](http://the-most-beautiful-broom.tumblr.com/)♥


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